There's something to finding the edge of a cliff. Something animal in me that screams with fear and adrenaline, "That's a cliff right there! We're close to the edge!" It's a thrill to overcome this, or to embrace it and master myself.
"I know its a cliff. I'm the one who brought us here."
Laying flat inching towards the edge of some gorge in Arizona or pushing my face past the guard rails atop the empire state building. Perhaps I run out of neural chemical signals or burn up all the receptors to carry them, or my body believes the lie I'm telling myself, "Everything's okay. I can get a bit closer." The animal gets put away.
In this way I creep towards the edge. I terrify myself, get a hold of myself, and terrify myself again. At some point the animal says "Who are you shitting?" and the only way to get a hold of myself is to back away from the edge. Having found it. Right there where I turned around.